


Holey rocks against feral mothers

by toads_in_my_pockets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery (Video Game)
Genre: Ashclyst forest, Charlie is the born homemaker, Haunted Houses, Multi, Romantic Confusion, a solomonic entity ate my owl pellets, establishing nomenclature, figuing yourself out, witch glyphs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toads_in_my_pockets/pseuds/toads_in_my_pockets
Summary: confessions have gone wrong and Mrs Weasley’s ire looms on the horizon. Charlie befriends an infernal entity purely because it looks like a pet in this one. Sequel to Around the haunt.
Relationships: Charlie Weasley/Original Female Character(s)





	Holey rocks against feral mothers

It’s well into the morning when Charlie wakes up, Hum’s weight no longer like a comfortable blanket on him. The birds are making a ruckus in the treetops outside and it’s very warm. He can’t hear Hum’s breathing. _She probably went off exploring_ , the readhead reassures himself - and his stomach grumbles. _Just what the hell can we eat; now that’s a pickle,_ the boy thinks with concern next, unwilling to open his eyes just yet.

He reaches his hand in search for another body that maybe, hopefully, had merely rolled off him, but it’s clear Hum is not there – her camisole is, and Charlie retracts his hand like a very panicked crab. He’s alone on the mattress they’d hastily threw on the ground come sunset. _The breakfast is on him_ , then, which is his task back at home - so no big deal here.

Still, Charlie knows there’s a blisfull desert where the pantry should be. Before going to sleep, the pair had raided the larder and all that was edible was a packet of buttermilk rusks, a jar of cranberry jam and some old claret. Lots of claret. They polished all of it, the kitchen suffused with the strange mist they knew shouldv'e been banished for good. Crunching kind of takes the edge of the things however – and they got used to the red light eventually as well.

This time, the mist has left them alone – maybe the cat weakened it enough for the protection to start working? Bill would have a lark seeing them try and bind it the day before – right after he’d kill them for doing dangerous stuff unsupervised, that is. This thought finally chases away all hopes for more sleep Charlie might still entertain – his eyes shoot open and the boy moans in discomfort.

He blinks once, and then several times more, trying to adjust to the unholy brightness that invades the room. His palm lies just outside the salt circle, he sees now, and the redhead starts with anxiety. Moving into a crouch, Charlie strains his hearing, trying to discern if it’s safe. The sudden softness assaulting his side sends him into a panicked yelp a second after that; he’s happy there’s no one to hear this. Although – he reasons – you could and _should_ fear magical cursed houses, if anything.

* * *

Or maybe Charlie just lacks the same patience he’d have for, say, a particularly feisty Hungarian Horntail? On the other side, Hum looked positively enamoured with all the spectral possibilities in here, once the alcohol had killed the last vestiges of her self-preservation come morning. None of them enjoyed being drunk that much – certainly made undressing more enjoyable though–

The cat is there by his side, Charlie sees, and it purrs like a very old heater his father had tried to set up one Christmas Eve. It's trying to fish for the owl treats in his pocket - Charlie uses these to get on Hestia’s good side. The boy hesitates but relents eventually, sharing the nuggets that got squished somewhere inbetween him rolling on the grass and then in this circle of salt again. _Good times. Funny exorcism before. Forgive his sarcasm._

“This doesn’t mean anything, you’re still the enemy-”, he grumbles, but can’t help and grin at the cat. It’s a pet – Charlie can’t say no to a pet. If he wishes for dragons, surely a cat-demon can’t be worse-

It loafs itself up fastidiously when Charlie exhausts his treat supply, and the redhead observes that -filling the breach in the salt circle - the creature completes the protection area neatly now. _Huh._ The boy strokes his chin thoughtfuly, exchanging his stare for a relaxed blink from the cat. It seems there will be no shortage of secrets to unearth with this one, and it's _right_ up his alley. With a future alchemist by his side they’d crack it open in no time-

Just then something thuds against the tilled roof outside, and when Hum slips into the room she finds Charlie clutching his heart like an elderly witch at a particularly weepy wedding. She laughs at him and the boy _hmphs_ , his head jerking in feigned indignation. He can’t pretend for long, not when she lets out a bevvy of rather peculiar objects fall on his lap as if she’s found some special treasure.

Charlie can’t help but look at the odd shapes - figurines and charms; a pinecone that looked like it was slathered with tar, some rocks and a seashell out of all things - and feels his brows riding high up in bemused interest. He had this reserved for when Mom was particularly trying, or the twins obnoxious. He didn’t take Hum for being bonkers as well - surprisingly.

She’s standing over him with the face of a hunter proud to share her spoils, and the redhead blinks at her owlishly. He rolls a particularly colourful stone in his fingers and feels it’s hollow inside – it’s pretty, and oddly warm, but not exactly a sensational material. “What exactly am I missing here?” Charlie asks, and he’s sure he catches the cat rolling its eyes. _The audacity_ …

“Holey stone!”, Hum cries (“with some other trash”, she then mutters absentmindedly), and in one purposive swipe she breaks the circle of protection even further in front of his dumbstruck face; the tips of her black converse shoes go white from salt. Some gets into his nose, and Charlie sneezes. This reminds him he’s supposed to have a cold, so he coughs dramatically, just for the effect. It gets lost on Hum, who’s doing some stretchy dance moves now, a typical warm-up whenever she’s stressed or just stiff.

“Now we’re set as far as protection goes!”, the girl lilts from across the room, completing a twirl that sends her dress rippling. _Maybe it’s for the better_ , Charlie muses, _she’d probably drench him in the Pepper-up if she noticed._

“So I’ve been checking on the protection charms to the south of the house, and some of these littered the ground”, Hum supplies, jumping from one foot onto another like a nimble dancer. “Of course it’s possible the whole protection system got disrupted by taking them”, the girl adds in a defeated voice as she ends her movement with her foot almost reaching her ear; she’s wearing sports shorts beneath the dress. _That’s freaky_.

_Naturally, she couldn’t keep her collecting instincts at bay_ , Charlie thinks then and snickers. Then he coughs and before he can say anything she jumps in front of him like a concerned mother eagle. Mother dragon, really.

“We may find some Pepper-up in the medicine cabinet. I know she had tons of medical stuff around here”, Hum mutters, caressing his heated cheeks with cold fingers from where she towers over him. He leans his forehead into the pleasant cold her palms provide. Best friend ever– _if those kissed you_ , he reminds himself. Should they discuss the nomenclature? For now he stretches himself back on the mattress contentedly.

Her legs are bare, Charlie notices then, and staring upwards the redhead can see fine, almost translucent hair lining the skin over her knees. Underneath, band-aids litter her calves, as if a vicious kneazle had a go at them. Maybe a razor debacle gone wrong? Hum is tanned from the sun now and he keeps wondering what exactly she’s been doing when she went AWOL on him last month – _she did mention having to ‘search for her own dragons’_ , Charlie remembers and with that he pushes the jealousy away. Guess he would have equally great many adventures in Romania when the time comes.

“Ok, so you found a hag rock”, he mumbles from the floor, his hands snaking around Hum’s ankle so that they wouldn’t have to move just yet. Goosebumps break on her skin in response to his touch, and she gives out a shaky laugh; he can feel how warm of her skin is. “Do you think it’s going to be effective?”.

“I gues I’ll see tonight”, Hum muses, tapping a finger to her lips, which Charlie sees thanks to no small acrobatics of his own; he’s comfortable where he is, for sure. _Wait, “I will”?_ He voices his surprise then; truthfully, he planned to sneak out of the Burrow again tonight. What mom didn’t know…

“What? You can’t really move in with me just yet”, Hum observes matter-of-factly, helping him stand up. She snickers and brushes away a dusting of salt from the tip of his nose.“Your mom is gonna kill us as it is-”

“Mom!”, the redhead starts, and if he wasn’t scared of the mist enough, his mom definitely came right next to that. The teens exchange anxious looks and it’s obvious the breakfast will have to be postponed.

“Do you think this--rock- will work on her?”, Charlie wants to know and Hum slips it into his pocket with grave expression on her face. 

“Not risking it. It does repel demonic powers, after all”, the girl mumbles and looks behind, where a leftover sack of holy salt sits. _Is she going to sprinkle mom with it?_ , Charlie thinks panicked - but Hum merely fills in the gaps she’d previously brodened within the protection circle. Clearly, she’s not risking this one either. 

“What are you doing?”, Charlie wants to know, observing how the girl fishes a sort of compass from her purse . _Who actually carries a masonic divider in there?_ , the boy wonders but stays silent - one doesn’t get between witches and their occult paraphernalia.

It’s actually interesting to watch Hum setting to work, scratching small shapes in the floorboards. The cat moves away as if burnt then, and Hum absentmindedly gives it an owl treat of her own, to sweeten the affront. Hestia, who’s landed on the windowsill after her owner, looks like she’s had enough - and monopolizes the rest of the stash; it seems a rivalry is forming. 

“Hexafoils”, Hum announces over her arm eventually, a spattering of markings dotting the boards now. “Solomon’s Knots, daisy wheels…Except those belong here–”. She’s mumbling now, moving onto the windowsil and leaving two more there. Then it’s the door-frame and Charlie rolls his eyes - soon she’d banish the cat from the room permanently. It looks incredibly agitated, trying to tiptoe in-between the offending symbols.

“Right, it should be enough-”, Hum starts speaking, notices Charlie, who’s grown anxious even more by then. The girl gives him a sympathetic pat on the arm. “I’m flying with you”, she says, and Charlie doesn’t know if he actually fancies the idea of her getting trampled by his furious mom. _But then, perhaps she’d prefer it to the demonic infestation in here?_

“If this is our last moment left”, Hum starts, her whisper stage-dramatical, “know I had no better friend than—Rowan, actually”, she ends up, bursting out laughing and Charlie knows it’s the truth, so he merely sighs in exasperation.

“I still adore you to my bones”, the girl adds affectionately, first time saying anything remotely romantic to him - and looks very surprised at her own words. It’s very pleasant thing to hear - but he’s to busy trying to locate his jaw on the floor, so the momentum to say something smooth back passes him - rather underwhelmingly.

“Um, yeah-”, Hum mutters, moving to gather her bag and avoiding his stare like it’s holy water; Charlie still wonders how she isn’t allergic to the holy salt, sometimes.

They both deflate considerably and busy themselves with preparing for inevitable demise later this afternoon. The sun is pretty high on the sky and there are no clocks in the room. It may as well be noon – or later than that. The pair makes a hasty exit via the windowsill once they’re ready, and they leap onto the courtyard via the many-gabled roof nimbly. 

“What now-”, Charlie muses, looking for his broom without conviction, while Hum paces in front of the house. Magic crackles around the courtyard like ozone before the storm and their eyes somehow can’t meet; both are feeling sufficiently chastened, now that consequences for staying the night are to be had, but it is hardly a reason for avoiding one another.

Charlie trips over his broom eventually and that’s how he finds it – he mounts it without usual gusto, only to find Hum already hovering over the giant oak, easily the biggest tree they’ve seen around here. She’s kicking the branch dejectedly, chasing away a great spotted woodpecker eventually, from where it’s been hiding within the branches. 

“I think we can reach the Burrow in half an hour”, Charlie tells her, and Hum sighs but flies first all the same. It’s clear she’d rather apparate there.

As much as they are pressed for time, Hum had never been to the Burrow before so they can’t really do that now; and Charlie doesn’t want to risk side-apparating, when even on his own the risk of flunking is considerably high. They resort to the flight with resignation, both reluctant to pick up their speed once they start – fifteen or twenty minutes barely makes a difference when a feral lioness waits at the end of the line.

Both are feeling a bit grave, so not many words are exchanged. Or maybe it’s because both are slightly dumbfounded – Charlie catches himself wondering if he should somehow reciprocate Hum’s assertion from before, now. Seems awkward though.

As their brooms glide through the balmy August air, they observe meadows dotted with knapweed, meadowsweet and cat’s ear – butterflies flit to them in swarms. A grove of Redwood trees covers a summit they fly over at some point, emerald grass shining on the neighboring glade. A gentle breeze plays with their hair – Charlie lifts his hands from the broom handle and ties his hair back into a ponytail; somehow he’d forgot to do that before.

He steals a glance at Hum then, flying a bit in front of him; he prefers to keep his eye on her like that - hates flying unless it’s a sturdier ‘griff’s back, this one. The boy allows himself a private smile – she’d probably choose a muggle car over a broom if possible. He notices a downturned curve of her mouth then, how it evens out once she catches him watching. Her expression is mostly thoughtful, or maybe a little bashful; either way it’s clear she prefers to enjoy the view over other things. By other things, Charlie realizes, he means himself – he rather enjoys when she watches him at times, thinking herself to be sneaky.

They drift to the north after a while, choosing to fly over unpopulated fields. Swaths of land unroll beneath their feet and their brooms pick up speed. Burrow appears on the horizon and Charlie suddenly feels apprehensive. A mansion in the woods, this is not. The level of dilapidation is significantly smaller, however, and the redhead sticks to this thought, instead of worrying if Hum will like it.

He calls for her attention and shows her where to veer. There’s a dense wood encircling the house in a crescent shape to the west, but that’s not where Charlie wants to land. He leads them to the further part of the garden now, where abundant garden blooms that Mrs Weasley cultivates closer to home give way to wilder, unruly undergrowth, further east. They’d have to stroll by the water edge and brave brambles and holly thickets, but the redhead hopes they could talk a bit before being spotted – and without wind whistling by their ears.

They make a graceful landing, evading detection both by skill and sheer luck – there’s nobody outside, except few chickens roaming behind the house. Hum loves chickens, alive naturally – and he sees her mouthing “sweet” with enthusiasm when she spots them from above. She hops to the ground mid-landing then, and ducks behind the dense copse of elder trees. She seems to have perfected that dramatic roll to safety people would do in muggle action movies sometimes and Charlie chuckles as he joins her in hiding.

The perspective of meeting his mom and guilt sits heavy behind his eyes – and they join hands, wordlessly, once their eyes meet. It feels right to be close again.

“Morgana’s tits, we’re in it for good, aren’t we?”, Hum asks, cheek against his arm, and Charlie murmurs something incomprehensible in response.“What?”, the girl doesn’t hear and his eyes reluctantly go back to hers.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have come here with me, less chances of you dying”, he jokes weakly - but they don’t laugh. Hum makes a wordless motion to his pocket with her chin - and Charlie chuckles. A hag rock seems like a feeble defense still.

“Either your mom or the house, not much of a choice here”, Hum mutters, fingers combing through her hair in frustration – she has a lion’s mane of blond hair, Charlie notices only now, and wonders what had happened to the silver from before. _Did she enter her rebellious phase?_ The golden, wheat-coloured waves soften her face, but she’s anything but stiff. “Plus, I need to apologize”, she adds then, looking up to his surprised expression.

“Wha-Why would you need to…?”, he wants to know, but Hum laughs humourlessly and makes a sweeping gesture that suggests _everything_.

“Your mom doesn’t know, right? How… _adventurous_ you’re at school?”, she wants to know and Charlie hangs his head in reluctant assertion. Fortunately, Percy still hasn't _ratted_ him out yet – pun very much intended. To mom, the fact he spent the night outside home, at his girl-friend’s house to boot ( _did he still need to hyphenate this or no_?).... She’d never believe in the curse breaking stuff, because she had no past reasons to. For all she knew, he was having adventures of a different kind, and that was quite less fortunate.

Hum gives a strained sigh, as if to summarize all that has transpired worldeslly between them – they were in for some scolding, hand-wringing and lying-thorugh-their-teeth kind of ordeal. At Hogwart’s it was business like usual – with Mrs Weasley it wouldn’t do this easy.

“What do we say, about -”, Charlie gestures, very generally, at them both and Hum chews on her lip, pink creeping on her cheeks. It suddenly feels quite vital to follow her every minute expression, and Charlie shifts so he can do just that. He hopes her penchant for tricking school personnel in the past would work on mom to a degree. Mrs Weasley has already became immune to his charisma - but perhaps could fall for a fresher kind of charm?

“Ugh”, Hum mutters, face leaning into her knees and the girl rocking lightly in deep thought. “We will go with the simplest, neatest route – we had fun, worked hard with the house cleaning, had one too many a butterbeer after-”, Hum lists off the reasons using her fingers to illustrate, and Charlie follows her with an unreadable expression on his face. Garden gnomes flit in his peripheral vision but he chooses to ignore them – never had anything against the little buggers anyway-

“-and that’s that”, Hum finishes and the redhead by her side whips his head back to her a little too eagerly. She rolls her eyes and waves a hand in front of his eyes amusedly.

“Sorry, got distracted”, Charlie apologizes but feels relieved when the girl clarifies the details. She believes saying he had to stay the night on her insistence will somehow soften the blow for him, specifically. That coming from non-relative, she could hide behind her status. It’s not the best excuse – but it’s pretty realistic. Whether his mother would think their friendship was just that ( _what was it actually?_ ) or assume they’ve shagged like rabbits was outside their control.

They get off the ground, brooms secured by their sides, and start trekking towards the house. Brilliant patches of pink phloxes and mounds of bergamot rise on the horizon as they walk by the water that spills widely to their left. Their hands barely touch – it seems obvious it’s better not to act as anything but friends for now. If Charlie could help it, he’d keep all _that –_ and he glances at Hum, catches her reassuring smile and his breath hitches a bit, _what was he thinking right now–._ He’d prefer to keep it to himself, the point was.

Charlie wonders if they should talk before his mom gets to them - this may be the last chance for a while (he is so grounded!). He steers Hum from the beaten path gently, behind a copse of large flowering shrubs that mark where the garden starts. Hum looks at him with eyebrows knitted, wondering maybe if he has second thoughts about their agreed tactics.

“Um”. Charlie is actually at a loss for words, which is not an attractive quality for a Griffindor - but a natural thing for human beings, and he tousles his hair, searching for words. “This may be the last time before I’m grounded” – he starts and looks at the girl in front of him. It’s already dawned at her it’s not the war council and Hum looks positively shifty – like she’d rather join the gnomes inbetween the breaches in the garden wall, than have this talk right now.

The girl looks like she wants to interject before Charlie can continue, but from her open mouth nothing comes out - so she just closes it, promptly. Charlie can’t help but look – now she’s chewing on her lips and it’s not helping.

“I should’ve said something, the morning- noon actually”, Charlie corrects himself and sighs. “The thing is, I'm pathetic at nice and round words about feelings and- stuff, so-”

He stops lamely, searching Hum’s face - but her brows are still knitted, one corner of her lip puckered in a skeptical grimace. She’s thinking deep, again, and this looks like anger on her face _._ Charlie had seen her burst out in thunderous anger before, but never at him – it seemed that she aimed not to emulate his mom’s explosive style both in anger and affection, by choice. This realization hits him now, as he watches her very clearly relate to his words – that’s what her face shows now, a shared understanding.

“Doesn’t have to be round or anything”, she mutters then, her words directed more at her shoes than towards him. Clearly, similarly pathetic skills in realms of romance was a shared trait between them. _What was the book Bill’s been reading? It was about charming knickers on the witches? Or off them?_

They’re both in thought again, wind moving the stems and delicate flowers behind Hum’s head. When she looks up at him finally, the sun hits her face and she squints a little, makes an eyeshade with her fingers to better see. “Just speak-”, she says, hair whippinng in the sudden wind and getting into her mouth. Charlie chuckles and helps her tuck them behind her ears.

“Charlie? Charles, is that you? Are you all right??-”.

His mom’s voice carries from the direction of his house, made weaker or stronger depending on how feisty the wind is at the moment. They share a panicked stare, time they had for each other suddenly shrinking to a space of a child’s snow ball. Hum cusses but pulls him in just as she takes a step back - deeper into the shrubbery and into herself.

It’s still some distance from the house and Charlie knows mom doesn’t enjoy apparating anymore than he does – so he just waves his free hand from behind the bush and gestures for Mrs Weasley to actually come there; this kind of bullshitting, he learned from all the adventures around Hum and their friends. They’re aligned as close as possible now, arms vice-like around each other, and Charlie allows himself to close his eyes and breath deeply. Two hundred meters, if on foot.

Mrs Weasley shouts to him _to stop joking and come out_ but he ignores it. Something teases the delicate skin over the right corner of his lips and without opening his eyes he knows it’s Hum and she’s onto the rest of his freckles, as he had an inkling she’d eventually do. It’s slow and delicate as feather touch but she does manage before mom’s voice becomes pronounced. It’s the first time he feels a pleasure this visceral – a rarity for him.

They maybe have a minute or two, at best, so Charlie allows his mouth to open, accepting a kiss that’s far more delicate than his from last evening or morning, whatever. It’s an exploratory one, of testing the possibilities and the boundaries, and Hum curses when his hand slips under the hem of her dress, to ghost the curve of her behind - and falls just as fast because his mom is _onto_ them, any time now.

It’s painful to leave the warmth of their shared space - but it’s just their lips that are aligned now, and once they break the contact they're hopefuly a pair of slightly breathless people, bit dishevelled from the flight.

“I’m bloody mad for you, Battenburg”, Charlie whispers breezily, ignoring how her jaw falls, and ducks his head from out of the shrubbery, a pleasant smile directed at Mrs Weasley who’s breathless from walking this fast, but happy to see him. He's equally happy, the boy recognizes. He pulls the slightly dumbfounded girl by the hand, graciously like the best of hosts, and pushes her delicately in front of Mrs Weasley. They both have their best poker faces on, Hum rolling her eyes at his gallantry and giving Mrs Weasley her best _I’m-just-a-friend_ smile that Tonks had taught her once.

“Mom, you remember Hum Battenburg”, Charlie grins, eyes crinkling in his best attempt at casual joviality, even if his legs are shaking a bit. He gives Hum’s arm a joking pat and she reacts appropriately cordial.

“She’s our new neighbor”, he says - their eyes meet and go, with some effort-

“-and my best friend”.


End file.
